No Winners
by Foxie
Summary: When a twisted way of life creates a twisted sense of reality, is there a single chance to come up as the winner in the game of love? YojiAya


A/N: Just a short ficlet once more, but I wouldn't have it any other way. Slightly inspired by the song "Empty" (Sonique's version).   
  
~  
  
No Winners  
  
Yoji POV  
  
I act like I'm the one everyone should be gazing in awe. I smile, I flirt, and I dress like I do just for the plain, pure need of attention and admiration. I'm a sucker for it, I admit, and I feel no shame for it. And damn, I'm good at getting what I want.  
  
It doesn't matter if it's just smiles and admiring looks; that's what my ego needs. And that's what I need to feel alive. I believe that existence is about being seen.   
  
Sometimes - or maybe a little more than often, to be quite honest - I want more than just those looks. I crave for physical contact just as I crave for any other kind of attention. And I do know what they say about it. I know that those words are not too flattering, and from time to time I have to agree with them. I am a slut when given a chance. If I feel loved, if just for one fleeting moment, I want nothing more. Let it be faked, let it be a lie; I don't care if only it feels real.   
  
I can't see how someone could turn down love. I have offered myself to him multiple times and been turned down at least as often. He doesn't know that it does no good for my self-esteem. I wonder if he even cares. I give him warmth and he gives me frost in return.   
  
I have begun to fall. Slowly but surely. I feel more deeply than I should, and for reasons unknown even to myself. It's ironic how love has decided to play games with me. Once I get a hold of it; once I can nearly see how it really feels, I'm broken apart. He holds my heart in his grasp and I doubt he even knows it. One wrong move and he will crush me.   
  
He doesn't ask for my presence. I am always invading his personal space and forcing him to see me. Sometimes he pushes me away; sometimes he takes me. Perhaps because he is only tired of me - who knows? All I know is that he doesn't feel the way I do, if at all.   
  
It makes me feel worthless.   
  
Why do I cling onto him? I believe that there is more in him than what he lets the people see. I want to believe that I could be the one to find out what. I want to believe that maybe someday he will speak to me like he would speak to an equal. That maybe he'd open up to me and to no one else.   
  
And I go to him day after day and night after night.   
  
Deep inside I have already given up but the more shallow me keeps trying over and over again. Maybe someday, I repeat to myself, someday.   
  
~*~  
  
I'm watching him from the door of his apartment as he's standing by the window. Just as usual. The moonlight passes through the windowpane and makes the room glow blue.  
  
"What do you want?" He doesn't even look at me. The question sounds tired, he doesn't want me here.   
  
"I want what I always want," I tell him. I'm tired too. Tired of this never-ending game and tired of being rejected. But here I am nonetheless.   
  
"Will you ever give up?" He looks even paler in the blue moonlight than he usually does. Finally looking at me. Finally seeing that I am there.   
  
"No."  
  
He looks down, his perfect profile now illuminated by the pale light. He is too tired to even keep his eyes fully open. The red hair of his falls down on his face when he takes a deep breath.   
  
I wonder which one of us is hurt more.   
  
"I don't want you," he sighs. I have heard those words so many times before and never recognized them. I won't do that now, either. And he knows I won't.   
  
He's trying as much as I am, maybe even harder. I try to get him closer to me and he tries to get away from me. It's a never-ending game of hide-and-seek.   
  
I make my way towards him as in slow motion and force his gaze to meet mine. His eyes are glimmering in the dark. If I didn't know better I might think they are tears. But I know him and I know better.   
  
He closes his eyes again and sighs. Slowly he lifts his hand to my cheek and pulls me closer for a weary kiss. I barely act along; used to the routine I don't know which one of us first created. Just as slowly he lets me go and for a brief moment he looks lost. As if he were just as broken as I am.   
  
"It's not about what you want," I whisper.  
  
And he has me as his own, once again.  
  
Only this time, I feel nothing.   
  
~*~  
  
I always leave first. I'm hiding from the shattered soul I find laying next to me; I'm hiding from the truth. I already know how fucked up we both are. How fucked up this is.   
  
The night falls around me like a warm cover. The stars shine down on me as I stand outside - they seem so hopeful, promising. I smile to myself.   
  
It would only feel appropriate to cry but I don't. I have no reason to.   
  
I know he doesn't cry either. He probably never has.   
  
And why should he?  
  
Why should we cry?  
  
It's just a game, anyhow.   
  
~FIN  
  
Thanks to Meablie and SandyDandy (dies_dandles@hotmail.com) for beta-ing.   
  
Feedback? 


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